So, I Need You
by racefh853629
Summary: And if I made you mad today, tell me would you love me tomorrow' -"So I Need You" by 3 Doors Down. Greg-centric, post-Fannysmackin' oneshot.


A/N: So, I was talking to lostladyknight earlier, and we had been discussing how I wanted to write a sad piece. She suggested I write a post-Fannysmackin' story about Greg reflecting on what happened, why, and how to tell his parents, and things like that. Thus, the following story. I don't own CSI, CBS, "So INeed You" by 3Doors Down,or any other known entity. I hope you guys enjoy the story, and please review.

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So, I Need You

Greg kept his eyes closed as he lay alone in his hospital bed. He struggled to breathe, not from the injuries inflicted upon him, but from the weight of everything crushing his chest. He had just gotten his ass kicked trying to save a guy and, in the process, he killed a man.

What was the cost?

That was what he kept wondering as he lay alone afterward. The gang might have killed Stanley, but he couldn't be sure. Demitrius might have killed him, but he couldn't be sure.

The only thing he could be sure of was that he killed Demitrius James.

He took in a shaky breath, feeling the weight crushing him even more. He killed someone. He was no better than anyone he put behind bars. He was just as much a murderer as most of the people he saw every day. He took a life. He killed a young man.

Sure, he could rationalize with himself that it didn't matter. That Demitrius was a criminal himself, a murderer. That Demitrius deserved to die for killing Vasco and injuring Jessica. He could rationalize that.

Maybe to others, anyway.

He opened his eyes, looking over out the window. The sun was rising, and something inside him wished he could take it all back, give Demitrius one more day, one more sunrise and sunset.

But he couldn't. Because life is like virginity- once you take it, you can't give it back.

Greg swallowed down the lump in his throat as best he could, hoping that this was all just some sick, sadistic nightmare he could wake up from. But it wasn't. This was his life now. He wondered if Brass would be coming in to arrest him, if Grissom was disappointed in him, if the team hated him for what he did.

He killed someone. He fucking killed someone.

How was he going to explain that to the folks? 'Dear Mom and Dad, I know you always said you were proud of me, but I did something bad today. I killed a man, who was theoretically going to kill me. Hope you still love me. Greg.'

As he thought it over in his head, it sounded ridiculous, even to him. He was a murderer. How could anyone love a murderer? He had taken a young kid's life. A college student's life.

Greg shook his head, trying to push those thoughts to the side and finding himself unable to. He couldn't help it. It was all he could think about. He killed a man. Dead. Not coming back ever.

He deserved to die for what he did.

Part of him hoped they'd put him in jail. He deserved to be punished. He killed someone. He took a man's life. Part of him kept screaming that it was an accident. That he never meant to kill him. That Demitrius should've just run away with the rest of them, not put Greg in that position.

And part of him hoped nothing would happen. That all would be forgotten by everyone.

He knew the latter of the three would never happen. There was a mom and brother who would always have that hole in their family. Greg himself would never be the same after knowing that he took someone's life. That everything was going to be hell from there on out. He would never look at life the same, his job the same, his own reflection the same.

He had killed someone.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get that thought out of his head. He had killed someone. What would his parents think of him now? They were so proud of him when he got the job at the Crime Lab. He had been so afraid to tell his mother he'd been promoted to the field.

This was the reason he never should've left the lab. He wished he never had. He wanted to go back in time, back three years, back before he told Grissom he wanted to go into the field. He wanted to take those words back. Because if he never went into the field, this would never have happened. He would've never killed someone. He would've stayed none the wiser about the victims whose lives he processed, the families affected by the tragedy, the people outside.

Life would've just been simpler if he stayed in the lab.

But something would've been missing from his life. He knew that. He had always felt there was something missing from his job in the lab. He missed seeing a case, putting faces to samples, knowing that the job he was doing actually meant something to someone.

As much as he hated this, he needed it. He needed that outside connection, needed that face, needed to know that he made a difference to someone.

He made a difference to someone, that's for sure. Just not in a good way.

Greg sucked in a breath, forcing the weight to give way for a moment as he tried to get air. He sniffled, feeling the depth of the ocean drowning him in the middle of the desert hospital room. But it wasn't the Pacific Ocean that was making him choke and sputter. It was the ocean of guilt he found himself in. He curled up into as tight of a ball as he could, ignoring the pain that coursed through his body with the movement. He deserved the pain at this point. He killed a man.

After a soft knock on the doorjamb, Greg closed his eyes. He didn't want any visitors to his pity party. "Son?" his father asked. Greg didn't move. "Greg, I know you're not sleeping."

"How would you know?" Greg replied.

"I used to watch you sleep as a kid."

"Yeah, well, I've changed a lot since then."

"Greg, please, don't fight with me." Greg sighed.

"Sorry, Dad. It's just, I haven't seen you in years, and now you're here." His father sat down on the bed next to him.

"I heard about what happened. Figured you could use some extra support." Greg half-smiled.

"Yeah, I do." Both men fell silent for a moment before Greg spoke up again. "I think I screwed up big time on this one, Dad," he said remorsefully. His father shook his head.

"What makes you think that?" he replied.

"Dad, I killed someone."

"In self-defense, Son. No jury in its right mind would ever convict you. You risked your life to save someone else's. Someone you've never met before is going to live to go home to his wife and kids."

"And he's more important than the kid I killed? Dad, I killed someone. I killed someone." Greg started to cry, and his father hugged him close.

"It's okay, Son."

"It's not okay. It's never going to be okay. I'm a murderer."

"Greg, listen to me. Is a woman who kills her abusive husband after he's stabbed her a murderer? Is a man who beats a man to death after getting mugged a murderer? Is someone who had their life threatened and then kills the person threatening them a murderer?" Greg shook his head, tears falling down his face. "He was beating that man to death. He was going to kill you."

"How do you know?"

"I, uh, ran into Grissom on the way over here. I had a few questions for him."

"And he told you."

"Not in so many words, but yes." Greg sighed, sniffling and saying nothing.

"I'm glad he explained it to you," he said finally. "I didn't want to."

"Understandable," his father said. He rubbed Greg on the back, listening to his son cry quietly.

"I love you, Dad. I'm sorry."

"Love you too, Son, and you have nothing to apologize for." Greg shook his head.

"Look at the mess I made."

"You did it to save someone and protect yourself. Everything'll be okay."

"No, it won't. It's only going to get worse."

"You've got me, Son. I'm not going anywhere." Greg nodded, sniffling and giving his father a gentle squeeze.

"Thanks, Dad."

THE END


End file.
